


I Lie and Say I’m Fine but I’m Really Not

by isTrash



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Depressed Jeremy, Depression, Everyone’s Worried, Heavy Angst, I’m confused, I’m sorry, Jeremy has scars, Jeremy needs help, Jeremy’s confused, Michael is worried af, Multi, PTSD Jeremy, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rewrite, Social Anxiety, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, anxiety and depression, electrocution scars, everyone’s confused, i love jeremy i swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-13 01:29:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12972726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isTrash/pseuds/isTrash
Summary: I, Jeremiah Will Heere, am a cutter. And I’m not emo, so don’t label me as so. I’m just a normal teen boy, going through the struggles of high school, and eating a computerized pill, and maybe just being slightly suicidal, but that’s normal. Right?({Rewrite})New Chapters on Thursdays and Fridays





	1. I

I, Jeremiah Will Heere, am a cutter. And I’m not emo, so don’t label me as so. I’m just a normal teen boy, going through the struggles of high school, and eating a computerized pill, and maybe just being slightly suicidal, but that’s normal. Right?

 

I sighed, and looked in the mirror in front of me. I was currently in a school bathroom, recovering from a breakdown.

 

I winced. Yikes. I didn’t look so good. I had bags and dark circles under my eyes, and my light caramel brown hair was messier than usual and sticking up more, making me own appearance of a crackhead. My skin was pasty and pale and littered with pimples and acne scars. 

 

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to calm it, but the thing about my hair is that it somehow found a way back in the same position. I took a shaky deep breath, and looked myself in the eye in the mirror.

 

_How did my life get to this?_

 

I shook my head. That question was easy.

 

My life was set in stone the day I had been looking for a pencil sharpener in 7th grade and I so happened to find my mom’s xacto knife blades. I was curious, so I took it up to my room and took out one of the blades. I obviously knew about cutting, duh. Pretty hard not to whenever there are rumors all about people who cut, and it’s never actually true but, y’know, shit gets around.

 

So I went to sleep that night with the blade in my bedside drawer, listening to my mom and dad fight downstairs.

 

A few days later, I had forgotten an important report for science, had left my lunch at home, Michael was sick that day, and my parents were in a larger fight than usual.

 

So when I got home, I did the most logical thing my twelve year old mind could think of.

 

I got the blade, went to the bathroom, and I cut.

 

My first cut was on my ankle, (I still have the scar), and when I took the blade away from my ankle, a tiny amount of blood had flowed out of the wound, and onto my foot. My eyes had widened.

 

I rushed to get the tissue box that was on top of the toilet, I wet the tissue, and I pressed a tissue against my wound. I looked myself in the mirror after it had stopped bleeding, my eyes still wide, and all that was echoing through my mind was:

 

_I did it... I cut... am I a cutter now?_

 

And I didn’t know why, but I had a strong weighing feeling if guilt on my chest, but yet I wanted to do it again. I wanted to cut through my skin, and see the ruby colored blood flow out of my cut again.

 

I shook my head. No, that was enough for today, I didn’t really need or want to cut again.

 

Three years pass, and that guilty feeling I had when I first started cutting disappeared. Now, I sit on the bathroom floor, dragging the blade across my skin, and watching the blood spew of out my left wrist in satisfaction. I had upgraded from the blades I had found to the blade of my razor. Now instead of feeling guilty, I felt a bit numb. And I still had a weighing feeling pressed against my chest, but now I didn’t know what that feeling was, and now when I cut, it kind of just released.

 

I didn’t cut daily or whatever, I mainly only cut once a month, or twice if that month was bad. And every time I felt guilty for cutting, I reminded myself that my addiction wasn’t bad. I only cut once or twice a month, rather than every night, like someone with a real problem would.

 

But when my mom left, I cut about as much as a normally scheduled cutter would. I cut almost every night. It wasn’t like anyone was stopping me. My dad had just laid in bed all day or watch TV on his recliner without any pants on. And Michael and I had gotten in a small fight, so we’d decided we’d leave each other alone. So while no one was stopping me, I went to town on my arms and legs.

 

I never told anyone about me cutting, especially Michael. Are you crazy Jeremiah? He would’ve lost his shit, and gone balls deep in a panic attack!

 

But when I got the SQUIP, the SQUIP had been almost like a councilor. We had these sessions in my head, and while I had the SQUIP, I didn’t cut. And it kinda felt good, but anytime I felt like going through my sock drawer to find my blade to the razor and drag it across my arm, the SQUIP would shock me, and the shocks would make the idea of cutting replusive and the SQUIP would pat me on the back and flash a smile and say how well I was handling my issue of not cutting.

 

I really wanted to cut Halloween night, not because it released the weight,  but because I knew I deserved it. I deserved cutting in deep, and having ruby red blood flow out of a large gaping wound. But the SQUIP shocked me and made me go to bed.

 

But when the SQUIP deactivated, I felt okay for about one week, free from the weight on my chest, but then I collapsed.

 

I’m not blaming it on Christine, because I think we both knew that we weren’t going to last as a stable couple, but I cut the night we broke up. I had to stop when Michael came over to my house to calm me down, but I cut. And I cut as bad as I did when my mom left.

 

After that incident though, I cut more and more often.

 

And that was why I was in the bathroom right now, breathing in and out, and looking at myself in the mirror.

 

Chloe had noticed at lunch when I set my lunch tray down on the table, a large, thick white line on my wrist, one of my cutting scars.

 

Chloe squinted, as I settled down to eat, and she tapped Brooke’s shoulder, stealing her from the conversation she was previously in, and whispered in her ear, looking at me the whole time. I watched cautiously at the two, as Brooke’s eyes widened and looked to my wrist.

 

“Jeremy,” Brooke had asked in her soft, girly voice, “what’s that on your wrist?”

 

Everyone at the table stopped their conversations, and looked to me, their eyes going to my wrist, and they all observed it closer.

 

I quickly hid my wrist with my jacket’s sleeve, and gave a sheepish grin. But I hadn’t realized that Jenna had gotten out her phone way before I’d hid my wrist.

 

Rich, who was sitting to my left, tried pulling my sleeve back so he could see. “Yeah, dude, I thaw one of those thcratcheth or cutth or whatever the fuck they are the other day in the boyth locker roomth.”

 

“Yeah, I’ve seen them too, Rich.” Jake said from beside Rich.

 

“Yeah so’ve I, many, times before. You don’t have a cat or anything, I would know by now. Did somethin’ scratch you?” Michael asked from beside me, as he grabbed my arm, about to pull back my sleeve and reveal my secrets, but I yanked my arm back.

 

He widened his eyes, and I dropped my smile. I stood up from the table swiftly, still gripping my arm. “N-nothing h-happened guys.” I said, turning my back on the table, and heading to the nearest bathroom.

 

I let out a bitter laugh at myself as I looked at myself in the mirror, as the memory replayed in my head. “Nice going Jeremy, that totally wasn’t suspicious at all.”

 

“Jeremy?”

 

I jumped. I spun around in my spot, and saw Michael behind me. “U-er, y-yeah?” I stuttered.

 

Michael strode over to me, and looked me in the eyes. “Jeremy... you’ve been acting weird ever since you and Christine... split. You haven’t been acting yourself, I guess I should say. Especially at lunch. You just kinda... took off.” He sighed, looking to the ground. “I just wanna know if you’re okay.” He said, back down to me.

 

I took a deep breath, and smiled halfheartedly, a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes, and looked up to him. “Yeah, I’m okay, just been acting kinda weird I guess. Probably just hormones or some shit.” We both laughed, but I could tell he did so nervously.

 

He dropped his smile, concern flooding back into his eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

 

I nod, and tried to look him in the eyes, trying to look genuine. “I’m fine. Really, I’m fine.” It’s funny how ‘fine’ can hide a million words.

 

He nodded. “Okay, I believe you. Just... know that I love you, ‘kay?”

 

I smile. A real one. “I know. I love you too.”

 

He grinned. I smiled. We’re all okay.

 

I wish we actually were though.

 

_I’m getting worse and you don’t know_


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exhausted, I climb back into bed, like I had done yesterday. And the day before that. Hopefully I’ll feel more up to the world soon...
> 
>  
> 
> Repeat.

Morning.

 

The alarm is painful. I’d already snoozed half a dozen times.

 

I need to get up. I put my feet on the floor. My mind cycles through a dozen excuses. Reasons to stay in bed. None stick. I stand up.

 

Yesterday’s clothes are in a pile by my bed.

 

Those will do.

 

When was the last time I showered? I’m not sure it matters.

 

I manage clean underwear, but being naked feels awful. Plus it’s cold. My bed was so warm. I glanced back at it. It was empty but so inviting. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath.

 

My usual T-shirt doesn’t smell fresh but it’s not stale either. Some deodorant will fix that.

 

I pick up my jeans. This is it. If I put them on, I have to leave the house. That’s the agreement. The impossibility of trousers haunts my mornings.

 

The jeans are comfy at least. I’ve worn them every day for two months now. Washing them would rinse away all their power. That’s what I tell myself.

 

That’s the agreement.

 

Wallet, keys to the house, phone. I wrap up in my cardigan. It’s a reluctant progression.

 

I’d rather be wrapped in my duvet. My bed is calling. It’s safe there. Warm. I could crawl back in easily.

 

If I didn’t leave now, I’d end up late for school.

 

Exhausted, I climb back into bed, like I had done yesterday. And the day before that. Hopefully I’ll feel more up to the world soon...

 

* * *

 

**_Repeat._ **

* * *

 

 

Morning.

 

My alarm is so very painful. I’ve already snoozed half a dozen times.

 

I need to get up. I put my feet on the floor. My mind cycles through a dozen excuses. More reasons to stay in bed. None stick. The days change but the routine remains. I stand up.

 

Yesterday’s clothes are in a pile by the bed.

 

Those will do.

 

I decided to finally take a shower. The bathroom is too bright, and the mirror taunts me.

 

 _You used to look so much better Jeremiah_ , the mirror says. I don’t remember when, but I know I did.

 

I curse the mirror and turn out the lights. If I’m going to get naked, I don’t want to have to see. That’s the agreement.

 

It’s cold and the idea of getting undressed and getting wet is impossible.

 

Perhaps I should just call the whole thing off.

 

I can do this.

 

Thirty seconds, that’s all it will take. A quick rinse. I don’t even need to get my hair wet. The lights are off. No one will see.

 

Exhausted, I climb back into bed. Hopefully I’ll feel more up to the world soon.

 

* * *

  ** _Repeat._**

* * *

 

Morning.

 

My alarm is painful as ever. I’ve already snoozed half a dozen times. I need to get up. I put my feet on the floor. My mind cycles through a dozen excuses. Reasons to stay in bed. None stick. I stand up.

 

Yesterday’s clothes are in a pile by the bed. Those will do.

 

I sigh. I chickened out about taking a shower yesterday. Why don’t I try again.

 

The bathroom is too bright again, and the mirror taunts me. _You used to look so much better Jeremy_ , the mirror says. I don’t remember when, but I know I did.

 

I curse the mirror and turn out the lights. If I’m going to get naked, I don’t want to have to see. That’s the agreement.

 

It’s cold and the idea of getting undressed and getting wet is impossible. Perhaps I should just call the whole thing off.

 

No, I’ve come this far, and I’m not chickening out again.

 

The water is revitalising. I forgot how good it feels to be clean. I towel down and almost forget about my aversion to nudity.

 

I pick up my T-shirt, but now I’m clean, yesterday’s clothes are too dirty to wear. I haven’t done laundry. It’s either yesterday’s clothes or nothing.

 

I’m going to be late.

 

This is too difficult.

 

Bed would be easier.

 

Bed will accept me as I am.

 

 _I’ll make everything better_ , bed tells me.

 

I, for once, ignore bed’s welcoming embrace, and throw on my clothes.

 

Outside is oppressive. My body is tired and sore, even though I haven’t exercised in weeks. Or, ever, to be honest.

 

Whenever I took breaths out, the puff of my air became steam in the chilled atmosphere. It was quiet, which would’ve been a good thing, except it was too quiet.

 

Especially for my mind.

 

I pass a homeless person on my way to school. _Fuck_ , my mind says. _You’re such an idiot. Some people have real problems._

 

My mind is repeating something someone told me once. It didn’t make me feel better then, and it doesn’t make me feel better now.

 

My mind tells me that the homeless person would love to have my problems. My mind is a dick. I dislike it most of the time.

 

I put in my headphones and brace for the journey to school.

 

I’m at my desk in biology, finally. Ten minutes late, but they’re lucky I made it at all. I avoided eye contact with everyone, and dodged all my friends as I entered the school building. After the stress of the journey, saying hello and trying to smile is impossible.

 

The teacher was calling role, but I wasn’t listening. Then everything went silent, and I came out of my trance.

 

“Is Mr. Jeremy Heere absent again today?”

 

I sat up. “U-uh, no. I’m actually, right here.” I said looking at my pencil stained desk.

 

My teacher went back to calling role. I didn’t listen the rest of the class.

 

I flinch when I hear the bell ring and the teacher dismissed the class. I gathered my stuff, and shot out of there like a bullet.

 

I wasn’t sure I would be able to handle a hallway full of bullies, and peers rampaging from one class to the other, all the while, the being incredibly loud.

 

“Cheer up,” a peer tells me as I walk into my next class. The teacher wasn’t there yet, so everyone was conversing at their seats.

 

I already regret coming to class.

 

“Yeah, would it like, kill you to like, smile and say good morning to anyone?” says another.

 

“To you? Probably.” I hear a familiar voice say, coming to my aid. I glance up and see Rich smirking, but he met my eyes, and gave me a smile, but I quickly averted my eyes. I’m just hoping for this day to be over as soon as possible.

 

I could say I’m sick and go home. Laughter from the other side of the room made that idea seem even better.

 

Take a deep breath.

 

This class is only twenty minutes, I can do this.

 

If I make it to lunch, I can eat something. Food always helps, right?

 

When class started, I went to the front of the classroom to the teacher and told them I wasn’t feeling well. The teacher sent me to the nurse, but I didn’t go. I just wanted to get the hell out.

 

Exhausted, I climb back into bed. Hopefully I’ll feel more up to the world soon.

 

* * *

**_Repeat._ **

* * *

 

Morning.

 

My alarm is painful. I’ve already snoozed half a dozen times. I need to get up. I put my feet on the floor. My mind cycles through a dozen excuses. Reasons to stay in bed. None stick.

 

The days change but the routine remains.

 

The days change but the routine remains.

 

_The days change but the routine remains._

 

_The days change but the routine remains._

 

_The days change but the routine remains._

 

**The days change but the routine remains.**

 

The days change but the routine remains.

 

* * *

**_Repeat._ **

* * *

 

One day, the first time I’d made it through the day to lunch, I bought lunch, and sat at a table all the way across the room from where my friends all normally sit.

 

I plopped my tray down on my table but I only just sat there and stared at it. When was the last time I ate anything? I’m not sure it matters.

 

But of all the people to find me at my small depressing table, Michael did.

 

He did not look pleased. “Jeremiah fucking Heere, is something wrong?”

 

Yes. Everything’s wrong. The entire world is wrong and I’m stuck in the middle of it, and I don’t even know what I feel anymore. It’s all a big emptiness that will never be filled. There are too many thoughts running through my head, and I can’t control them. I don’t feel needed or wanted, I’m just here, digging a big, dark hole in the ground with no purpose whatsoever. I’m lost and I will never be found. I don’t belong. I have everything I could want, but still something is missing. Everything is missing. The world has messed me up so bad I don’t even know who I am anymore.

 

”No, I’m just tired.” I replied looking straight into Michael’s eyes.

 

Michael stared at me for a second. He looked away to the floor. “You’re fucking lying Jeremy.”

 

”No, really, I’m fine.”

 

Michael stood there in disbelief. “So, you’re trying to tell me, that you’re fine. Jeremy, look in a mirror!” Michael yelled, making a few bystanders glance over at the scene he was causing. “You’re trying to tell me, that you’re fine, when you fucking look like shit! You are not fine! You’ve missed like three fucking weeks of school!”

 

By now most of our grade at lunch has stopped their conversations to watch our little scene play out.

 

I stood up, and held my tray in my hands, getting ready to throw it away and go home to climb into my welcoming bed.

 

But Michael wouldn’t let me leave that easily.

 

Halfway over to the trash can, he spun me around, and grabbed my arms.

 

Michael was trying desperately to meet my eyes, but I was looking anywhere but his eyes. By now the entire cafeteria was silent, you could hear a pen drop.

 

But I could hear everyone laughing at me, hysterical. Everyone starts calling me names, telling me how awful I look. But I realise they’re completely silent.

 

It’s all in my head.

 

Fuck my fucking mind.

 

I saw groups of people staring at our interaction, a lot of the faces that watched on, nameless.

 

I saw my group of friends quickly making their way up to help Michael with me.

 

I finally looked Michael in the eyes. His chocolate brown eyes were filled with pain and concern. He was a wreck. How many sleepless nights had he had in my absence that I didn’t know about?

 

”Jer, you aren’t okay.” He says to me, his eyes filling up with tears. Mine were too. “Miah, you need support. Because you aren’t okay. I know you Jer. You aren’t okay.”

 

I looked him in the eyes for a second, my eyes still tearing up. I narrowed my eyes, my lip quivering. I forced my tray into Michael’s arms, and walked calmly out of the cafeteria.

 

Michael just stood there in shock. He looked down to the tray that had been forced into his hands.

 

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked over, and saw Christine with tears in her brown eyes looking sorrowfully up to him.

 

He turned back around and wiped his eyes, walking the rest of the way to the trash can and threw out the tray.

 

* * *

**_Repeat._ **

* * *

 

My body felt tingly and I was getting dizzy. I feel like ice is running through my veins. I want to fucking run away but how could I when what I wanna run away from is inside my own mind. Shallow breathing. No breath. Hyperventilating. Heart racing.

 

Total panic.

 

I felt like every wall was closing in towards me. I couldn’t see straight, and I was seeing black spots.

 

The sound all around me was muffled, and my own breathing came out as gasps.

 

I need to escape, get out, run, or fucking do something. No one would care or notice I’m gone. My chest and stomach hurt. I was feeling hot all over. I felt completely numb. I couldn’t do it. I can’t do it. I won’t do it. I’m suffocating. My mind thinks too fast and too many things are flooding into my head. I just want to curl up in a ball and never do anything again. Or maybe I was already in a ball, I couldn’t tell. I felt tears streaming down my cheeks. Was I crying? I didn’t know if I was.

 

I finally stood up, stumbling. I knew what to do. I knew how to do it.

 

I limped over to sock drawer, getting something out.

 

I held on to the wall the whole time as I made my way to the bathroom.

 

I stumbled into the bathroom, and held up my razor blade up to my face to examine it.

 

It would do fine.

 

I took a deep shaky breath, and laid the cool metal blade on my arm.

 

I suddenly let go of the blade.

 

 _No_ , my mind thought, _you can’t do this. Not right now. But later._

 

So I listened.

 

I had recovered from my state of panic, and I was back in my room.

 

I placed my razor in my sock drawer, and climbed into bed.

 

I’ll never be able to get better and face the world. So why should I even bother at this point.

 

* * *

**_Repeat._ **

* * *

 

I was sat on my bed, staring out the window.

 

I felt so fucked up, so depressed, so useless, I just wanna go to sleep and not wake up ever again.

 

There was a full moon out.

 

I was just looking outside from my window, thinking about how I fucked up so bad. I couldn’t even cut to feel better.

 

There was a constant cloud over my head that I couldn’t get rid of.

 

Silent tears were slipping from my eyes as I clutched my knees to my chest.

 

It was quiet outside, but that was bad, because that’s when my mind was loudest.

 

Everything about me makes wanna die was repeating like a mantra flowing through my head.

 

_No one loves you._

 

**_You’re right._ **

 

_You’ll die alone._

 

**_You’re right._ **

 

_All you do is burden people with your problems._

 

**_You’re right._ **

 

_You’re talking to yourself, Jeremiah._

 

**_You’re right. You’re always right._ **

 

_I know._

 

_**Good talk.** _

 

_My pleasure._

 

I started pacing around my room. Nobody would care if I died.

 

My mind’s right. It’s always right.

 

I should just die.

 

I finally got my razor from out of my drawer, and went into the bathroom, not even caring to be quiet.

 

I placed the cool metallic blade over a vein, and cut. I did that to the other wrist, and slouched on the wooden cabinet behind me.

 

_You didn’t write a note._

 

**_I don’t care._ **

 

I smile, thinking about how much better the world would be without my presence.

 

_Your father wouldn’t have to spend so much money anymore._

**_My friends wouldn’t worry so much about me._ **

 

_Michael would finally be able to be free of your pathetic grasp._

 

Everything would just be so much better.

 

So much more wonderful.

 

The last thing I heard before blacking out was a door opening, a gasp, and, “MR. HEERE!”

 

There was ringing in my ears. 

 

And everything

 

went

 

silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was like, incredibly hard to write??? it was basically my daily routine. just a day in the life of jeremy. by the way, in case anyone hasn’t put it together, jeremy’s mind is kinda like a phantom version of the SQUIP. this isn’t a ‘SQUIP comes back’ fic, but this is just kinda a phantom SQUIP.


End file.
